When I attended the art show on the Indian reserve some weeks ago that gave voice to so many women who have experienced violence, something in me cracked open.
One of the art “pieces” was an exquisite young woman who had been painted to go on display. She was a live “art object,” her huge eyes with the long lashes brimmed with tears painted down her cheeks.
Her mouth was crudely sewn into an image of silence. Suddenly my personal numb box exploded and I was my 17-year-old self, a virgin newly raped, terrified of pregnancy, planning for suicide and completely silent.
I turned to other women at the show and was amazed others were finding voice too. My friends, mostly professional women, women in leadership roles here in this town were turning to each other quietly: “Oh no. Not you? You too?!”
Some in tears, others calm and competent as ever, we talked of the abuse that was a part of our experience, some a part of childhood, others a part of growing into womanhood.
We mostly turned out all right. Could it have been so bad? You bet it could. It impacted, for me, the most personal aspects of my life. It impacted the career in social work I chose. It impacted my dreams, my poetry, my songs. It impacted the way I tried to raise my sons. It impacts how I stand by my daughter.
I still cry for that hopeful young girl who was me and I’m determined sexual and physical abuse simply must stop.
We need to stand together, young and old, male and female.
If you want to add your voice, your support, a place to start might be the Vagina Monologues taking place at Osoyoos Secondary School at 7 pm April 10-11.
Together I believe we can make a difference.
Marion Boyd, Oliver
